I held a flower in my hand,
Its colors were alive and grand.
I decide to crush out its worth,
And give unto it a new birth.
The flower is mangled in death,
It has no beauty and no breath.
If I could bring back the hour,
I'd not dishonor the flower.
ŠJuly 30, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~